


Family matters - of sounds

by Kaamos (reckless_love)



Series: The Angband Family [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Mention of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 23:21:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17171393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reckless_love/pseuds/Kaamos
Summary: Beyond victorious tombstones of countless enemies, on top of its hill at its highest point, the ancient Angband mansion proudly stands.





	Family matters - of sounds

**Author's Note:**

> Masochistic enough to start a new silly series, this vignette/chapter works like intro.  
> Based on [this](bodhvild.tumblr.com/post/174019040741/so-so-i-said-angbang-the-addams-family-crossover), it will be silly, probably with mention of blood (and blood playing), smut, a sort of raping and black humor. Anyway, every vignette/chapter will have its warnings/tags. Slow updates.

Beyond victorious tombstones of countless enemies, on top of its hill at its highest point, the ancient Angband mansion proudly stands.

Beneath a gloom and sunless morning sky it rests. It’s not an easy rest however, having the inhabitants busy, all of them with their own business. Thousand sounds compose the silence. Bats scurry beneath the roof-boards and spiders work busily on their webs in the darkest corners of the villa.  
The house creaks and settles on itself.  
From the greenhouse, comes a crunching, gnawing and gulping, as the poisonous plants feast on their squirming dinner.

Deep in the bowels of the old house, the security staff’s behemoth Gothmog plays chess with a steadily cuffed Hand. The giant darkly laughs, loud enough to shudder the walls of the leisure room. The handcuff chain nailed into the table sounds with dull clicking while Hand trembles with quivers of terror for what could come next.

Soft whispered words are spoken from the chambers beside the kitchens, where Glaurung sits surrounded by dancing candlelight. At the height of the power, his hair coils slowly around him, faint hissing rise, then the locks turn into snakes: weaving some magic spells, he casts bone runes to see what tomorrow brings.

On the upper floors, from the first bedroom, Gorgol the Butcher gurgles in his sleep adding some occasional gasps as he thrashes across the bed in the grips of a wonderful morning terror.

Between the walls, in one myriad of hidden passages and tunnels, there are the soft plod of footsteps, as Langon creeps silently along the ninth gates of hell circle, trying to keep his steps regular: “I nommus eht elcriC”, holding his hands out toward the edge of it.

A few rooms over, beyond Thuringwethil’s door, comes a constant creak of mattress, and the continuous slam of the headboard as it hits the wall, mingling with her stoic and impassive voice, "Down!", she orders. Then, her dark liquored eyes dilatate and her voice raises again, in passion this time: "Hmmm”, her face contorted in delight when the victim’s blood blends with hers.

Meanwhile the sound of Thuringwethil’s voluptuousness carries across the house. It drifts down the main hall and down again the imposing staircase for two floors underground, directly to the master boudoir room. There, in an eternal gloom lit by only black opium candles, in the great king-sized bed under wine red satin sheets, Melkor sits up, awake and smirking.  
From his vanity makeup table, his husband Mairon reciprocates the teasing smile through the looking glass. While choosing the rings to bed, he does nothing to hide his albinic beauty covered by a black lace nightgown. After selecting two of his favourites - a gold-filled onyx and a honey amber fitted on silver -, he smirks as he slowly lets his own fingers penetrate the rings. Melkor grins biting his lower lip: only Mairon can make him doing so.

Mairon doesn’t exactly know when his husband left the bed, but feels with a very clear distinction when the man slips around his lithe body and takes him into his arms, feeling his stiffness pressing against the small of his back.

Even the walls of the house know the signals.  
The more the scream are high-pitched the more Mairon is completely un-self-conscious about them, comfortable enough to surrender over his body to Melkor: allowing himself to make noise makes him come harder. Sometimes even much harder, which makes him scream more, which makes them both come harder.

**Author's Note:**

> ♥ thank you for reading ♥


End file.
